


emotional vulnerability? in this economy?

by cherrymq



Category: Breach: The Archangel Job
Genre: Gabriel-Centric, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Introspection, POV Gabriel, SPOILERS for ng+ prologue, barely edited bc im a lazy bastard, but then I got bored, dialogue from the game was used, gender neutral pronouns used for raphael, ooc? maybe., second half is kind of a rewrite of part of the confession, the first half at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26926012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrymq/pseuds/cherrymq
Summary: Gabriel can't dodge for shit. Neither bullets nor feelings.
Relationships: Gabriel/Raphael (Breach: The Archangel Job)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	emotional vulnerability? in this economy?

**Author's Note:**

> [points and laughs at gabriel] the criminal mastermind has fallen in love with the new recruit  
> 

Gabriel was a professional. 

It was that professionalism that had helped him keep his drifting thoughts in check. It wasn't a skill he'd needed much before _them._ A habit of getting a touch overly involved in some things? Maybe. (He'd admit to that much, at least.) However, it wasn't too often that his actual thoughts and plans got away from him. Until now. Until them.

It wasn't like he hadn't had certain stray thoughts in the past but that was — different. It was one thing to observe someone through photographs and shitty CCTV footage and another thing to actually _see_ them. To see the way that person's eyes light up as they take a bite of the cookies you made, to be able to meet their eyes with your own and _speak_ to them, _touch_ them (even if it was only a pat on the shoulder), and be _known_ by them. They were moments he'd never admit to having fantasized about, but if he had, he'd say that real life was much, much better than anything he may or may not have imagined. 

Just being able to stand by Raphael should have been enough. That was what Gabriel was supposed to do after all. Guide Raphael, help them find their own path and nothing else. And yet, Gabriel couldn't help but want that path to be the same as his own. 

Before he knew it, he'd begun to think about certain _things._

Things tinged with such normality that it scared him because he was _Gabriel._ This—killing, dying, coming back to life, rinse and repeat—was his life. There was nothing else—no double life or retirement or surefire happy ending waiting for him at the end of the road. No matter how much he may or may not wished for one. That was why when thoughts of him and Raphael baking in some well-lived kitchen came to him (Frank Sinatra playing softly in the background like some montage from a cheesy romance movie) he'd push them away before they could even begin. Before they could become something tangible. He'd tucked them away in a corner of his mind and reminded himself: He was a professional.

As creepy as it sounded, he'd watched over Raphael for a long time. At first, he had tried to see it as just another obligation. Tried to learn and watch over Raphael with the same objectivity Gabriel treated most of the people he'd had to observe in the past. But the longer it went on, the less and less of a mission it became to him.

Though, in truth, it never really had been just a 'mission'. Watching over Raphael had always been more personal to him than any mission ever had been. 

‘Personal missions’ almost always involved a certain degree of anger and hatred — emotions Gabriel understood so well that he was tired of understanding them. The feeling of closeness watching over Raphael had brought him was so foreign to Gabriel that he had let his guard down. He’d allowed himself to mull over new information for too long and for reasons too mundane. Allowed his thoughts to drift to places they had no business in being. Allowed himself to fall. 

Just a little bit. 

Until it took just a quiet moment of himself and Raphael alone for him to finally admit to himself, " _Oh._ I love them. Michael's going to murder me."

Maybe it had been the blood loss, or the painfully fresh fright of nearly losing them (or maybe it was the intoxicating proximity and feeling of Raphael's hands trembling slightly as they unbuttoned his shirt — to clean his wound. Yes.) that had caused the feelings that had grown so much more and so much faster than he'd expect to overflow to the point that the truth he'd tried so hard to avoid finally rose to the forefront. It wasn't a realization that hit him like a punch to the gut or washed over him like a bucket of ice water. 

That would have been too easy.

Instead, it was a tortuously gentle realization. Like closing your eyes and surrendering to sleep after days of fighting it off. Warm, comforting, and, most of all — exposing. He had felt his heart thump, more aware of it than he ever was, and felt real. It had been simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating (though there's a good chance he owed some of that feeling to the amount of blood he had loss).

Most people, after such a revelation, would hope — or, at the very least — dream. Gabriel wasn’t most people. He was a ghost, a dead-man-walking, one with a mission he had every intention to complete. So, even if his thoughts wandered and he sometimes found his hand lingering a second too long on Raphael’s shoulder, he had never allowed himself to hope. 

That was why it had been all the more surprising, all the more surreal, to hear _those_ words from Raphael’s mouth.

* * *

“I like you.”

For once, Gabriel's mind was completely silent. It wasn't like the relaxed reprieve that he'd just rewarded himself, his head fuzzy from the late night conversation and warm milk-tea. It was more like his head was just  _ empty.  _ Like someone had smacked him over the head and accidentally hit a pause button somewhere.

All the plans he'd been going over, thoughts on the Outfit and FBI,  _ everything _ — skidded to a halt at those three words. 

I like you. 

They rattled in his empty brain like a coin in a tin can. He forced himself to think through the rattling — He was  _ Gabriel _ for fuck's sake, thinking, or rather, planning was his main schitck. 

Doing what he did best, Gabriel rationalized that Raphael probably meant it in a platonic way, right? 

Yes. That was definitely it. After all, what other way was there to end a warm, tender, platonic night than a heartwarming platonic moment of transparency? 

(He felt a distant drop in his stomach of — something. Not disappointment. Definitely not. What was there to be disappointed about? Probably just heartburn. Or internal bleeding.)

Gabriel willed himself to move, cocking his head in a practiced move of faux casualty.

“Well, thank you. I like you too," Gabriel didn't let those words linger in his mouth for too long. He couldn't. 

"You've been a great friend and a great asset to the Archangels," He nodded, more to himself than Raphael.

Raphael blinked at him, mouth opening and closing in uncharacteristic speechlessness. Did he say something wrong?

“No, I mean, I like you, like you,” Raphael said slowly. 

Gabriel blinked behind his mask. His head felt a bit numb. Did the stress finally get to him? God, he hoped not. There wasn't exactly much room on his schedule to squeeze stress induced mental breakdown onto it.

He forced himself to calm down. They probably just stuttered. In fact, was  _ Raphael  _ okay? Being wanted by the FBI, suddenly being told to lead a crew, and then being made to infiltrate the most secured tower in Chicago all within the span of a month was an upheaval that most people wouldn't be able to handle.

"Um, okay? Are you okay? You seem to be stuttering." He asked, willing himself to focus.

Raphael stared at him, expression deadpan. Gabriel felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as they leaned towards him. He readied himself for a punch. That oughta wake him up.

Instead, Gabriel felt a pair of arms wrap tightly around him. He felt himself freeze in place, heart leaping up his throat. 

_ 'Ah. I've finally lost it.' _

it weren't for the feeling of Raphael's body pressed against him, solid and much more grounding than he was ready to admit to himself, Gabriel might have actually convinced himself that he'd gone crazy. 

(But everything about it was too real. Real enough that he could already see how this would end. Up in flames.)

Maybe a punch would have been better after all. 

The hug did feel nice though. Very nice.

"I, um…hi! How are you? You're hugging me." Gabriel looked around, unsure where to look or what to think. He still wasn't sure what in the hell was happening nor did he know what to do. Maybe he should've felt more frustrated — he wasn't someone who was fond of being caught at a loss — but instead he felt like yielding. A hug wasn't the end of the world. 

(Probably.)

"Um…well, it really has been quite stressful planning everything these last few days. I g-guess I could use a hug." Gabriel felt himself relax again, the tension wound up in his muscles melting away as he returned the hug. "This…feels good, actually."

It felt more than good. It felt like coming home.

"Thank you," Gabriel sighed, more weary sounding than he'd like. He'd stay like this for hours if he could.

Raphael's arms wrapped around him securely, warm and comforting and strangely Gabriel found that he felt  _ safe. _ Maybe not from the Outfit or the Cartels, or any of the other numerous bounties on his head but, for the moment, he felt safe from himself.

It was only then that Gabriel realized just how perfectly Raphael fit against him.

“Thank you. It's getting a bit hot in here. Or is it just me?" He chuckled. 

He needed to leave. Now.

"I want you to stay for the night."

Huh.

(Dozens of interpretations of that sentence swarmed his mind, an embarrassing amount of them including less than honorable thoughts about his self proclaimed great friend.)

For what felt like the hundreth time that night, Gabriel forced himself to think rationally.

Raphael just found out that they were being tailed by the FBI this entire time, it was understandable why they would want him to spend the night. A security measure.

“Oh, very well, then. I'll sleep on the couch and make s—" 

"No, I want you in my bed!" 

Forget a smack on the head. Gabriel felt like he'd been hit by a wrecking ball and forced to swallow it. 

"G-Gabriel, I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> this was a mess but :P hope you had fun reading it regardless  
> -  
> edit 10/24 completely rewrote the second half,, still not happy with it but its 3 am and my main goal was just to clown gabe for being so head empty during the confession scene so i'd say my work here is done. maybe ill come back 2 fix the jarring tone but i hope you enjoy...whatever this is for now <3


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